


honey, i'm home

by Anonymous



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Dom!Jonathan, Established Kink, Feminization, Genderbending, M/M, discovering kink, housewife kink? is that a thing? it is now., sub!Steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 18:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19932793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Steve just makes the prettiest housewife, doesn't he?





	honey, i'm home

Steve always knew he liked to feel…pretty. Not girly; Steve Harrington was _not_ girly. But he could be _pretty_. His mom and her friends sighed over his beautiful hair starting when he was only a toddler and even his first grade teacher told him his cheekbones and eyelashes were wasted on him being a boy. 

He saw his mom get ready every morning, sliding on red lipstick and stepping into gorgeous pumps in every color. He assumed that’s what every woman did in the morning. He eventually finds out he is very, very wrong but the waxy smell of cosmetics holds a sense of comfort in Steve. 

He loves women; loves sex with women. He loves curves and soft, sweet and scented skin. He loved sliding his hand up a skirt, the catch of tights against his calloused palms. He loved making a mess of makeup; lipstick smeared on his face and neck, mascara staining a pillowcase in the throes of passion.

But then Steve is 19 and Robin is making fun of him during a lunch together. 

“Oh!” Steve exclaims. “Can you remind me to check in with Dustin? He was struggling with Click’s class and I was going to call him tonight with some pointers.”

Robin rolls her eyes into her club sandwich. “You’re a single mother,” she jokes. “You’re a string of pearls and a petticoat away from being a 1950s housewife, swear to fuck.”

Steve rolls his eyes now. “I am _not_!”

“Yes, you are!” Robin laughs. “It’s nothing but martinis before dinner and fetchin’ slippers now, buddy.”

Steve says nothing but throws a dirty napkin at her instead. Robin collapses into hysterics, snorting and tossing her own dirty napkin back at her friend. 

But then Robin doesn’t let it go. She greets him for their shifts at the video store with “Mrs. Harrington”, taking her own string of plastic pears off her freckled neck to wrap around his when he isn’t paying attention. She playfully grabs him by the jaw and coos that El Hopper looks just like her mother when the young girl pops in on a sunny Thursday afternoon. 

Steve knows, okay, he _knows_ he can tell Robin to fucking knock it off and she’ll stop. She’ll swallow her giggles, stone faced, and apologize for overstepping. Things will be awkward for the better part of an hour until Steve trips over something and Robin calls him a dingus. Then it’ll be fine. It’ll be like it never happened.

But he doesn’t tell her to stop. He lets her twirl her long fingers into his hair and ask him what _Mr._ Harrington thinks of his wife working outside the home. She burns images into her mind and Steve can’t seem to be bothered to make her stop. Grace Kelly, Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe-- shit, even Jayne Mansfield. Wiggle dresses, sensible pumps with low heels, white lace gloves and girdles fastened tight. Making dinner, dirty martinis, “how was your day, honey?” said with a bright smile. 

He flips through a _Seventeen_ magazine one night when he closes alone, looking at shining ads for cosmetics, top ten ways to wear a strapless bra, get kissable lips now! Flavored lip glosses, pastel cosmetic kits; tasteful ads for modern underwear for the modern gal. 

He’s not hard but something pulls at him deep down, a desperate flush of desire as he sets the magazine down. He rubs his palms over his face, groaning in frustration. This was not Steve Harrington. This was a monster that Robin had implanted in his brain like some goddamn science fiction movie and Steve just had to ride it out until it died and shriveled away. 

Like a sexy Mind Flayer except burning shame though Steve.

It didn’t die. It grew and stretched itself out along the length of his sweating spine. Nancy Wheeler in wide trousers, curls slicked back into a tight bun as Steve knelt at her feet to untie leather brogues, easing them off her ballerina’s feet as she sat in her easy chair like a throne. Her slim fingers sliding up Steve’s dress, searching under layers of crinoline and tulle, to snap at a garter, smiling lasciviously as Steve blushed and tried to push her hand away. Nancy pushing all that fabric up Steve’s quivering hips to tell him what a pretty pussy he had—

The bell on the video store rings and Steve almost yelps in shock. The woman, pretty, blonde, red lips, barely acknowledged Steve, heading straight for the drama section to pursue a specific tape. She taps her heel ( _white pumps_ ) as she scans, giving Steve time to level his breathing and put his retail face on.

“Evenin’!” he calls over the counter. “Help ya find anything?”

“Oh no,” she smiles kindly. “I’m just browsing.”

The woman leaves empty handed after Steve tells her there’s a four day wait for the movie she’s looking for, shrugging and saying she’ll be back then, and Steve locks up behind her. 

He takes the magazine home with him. It burns a hole in the seat of his car as he drives. He can’t bring himself to bring it inside and instead shoves it under the passenger seat, hoping he’ll forget about it in the morning. Praying he’ll forget about it before tomorrow. He needed this…bullshit to burn out of his system _now_. He tells himself this isn’t him; this is just some ridiculous fever dream. Tomorrow, at work, he’s going to tell Robin to quit fucking around and quit making jokes about him raising 4 boys and 2 daughters on his own.

Later that night, after he’s showered and in bed, he shut off the light and lets his mind wander. He needed to sleep and the stirring of his cock seemed like the perfect way to get there. 

He thinks of Nancy, inhabiting the role of the lecherous, sexist boss, smacking Steve’s ass wrapped in a tight, black pencil skirt. Nancy, scratching red nails down the even seam of a black stocking, pushing Steve’s legs apart to press herself between them. Lipstick smearing off Steve’s lips and onto Nancy’s own. 

“Good girl,” Nancy whispers as Steve buries his face between her legs. “You take that cock like a champ. Want me to come all over your face, pretty girl?” Nancy twisting her soft thighs around Steve’s head, groaning loudly as she comes against his eager mouth. 

Steve cries out as he comes, breathing hard as the mess on his belly cools and dries, tacky and uncomfortable. 

The fantasy, while satisfying, wasn’t…complete. Nancy’s wrists were too delicate to pin him to a kitchen counter. She could smirk and play, that much Steve knew, but she wasn’t—

_Masculine._


End file.
